


Love Is Under My Will Only

by ktyxdovahkiin



Category: Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: 36 Lessons of Vivec, Minor Character Death, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 21:19:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15081950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktyxdovahkiin/pseuds/ktyxdovahkiin
Summary: After the Red Year, the suffering was long, hard and manifold. Some pains were greater than most. Those who were highest fell furthest; those who were lowly fell not less. All their stories are written in the trackless ash, in the swallowing mud of the marshes, in the blizzard-blown snow of the north. Some, like this one, are written on scraps of parchment found in a cave, found more than a century after the words were first set down.





	Love Is Under My Will Only

**Author's Note:**

> This is a tribute to Randall Dean Clark's terminal entries, from the Honest Hearts DLC of Fallout: New Vegas.

**4E 5, Sun's Dawn 9th**

Five days on foot. Sleep eludes me.

The storms have slowly abated, but the sky still looks wrong. Red, angry. As it should be.

I write this now, in this cave, with ink on parchment - the trader with his pack guar carried a goodly supply of these, among other sundries. He died yesterday - I tried to build a cairn, of sorts, but the dust was rising then and I had to leave his body to be claimed by the ash. The guar ran off, along with most of the food. 

I have forgotten his name. Not like me, to forget things like this. Names are important. The names of the people we guided for all these long years, I tried to remember them all. When I wrote my sermons I always reminded myself of the people to whom I was writing. Not like me at all, to forget the name of someone who shared his dying moments with me.

But I am myself no longer. I do not know what I am, except an old, tired elf trapped in a cave, with the air within growing stale while the air without is tormented by smoke and ash.

Lord Vivec, forgive me, forgive my lack of faith. Once I remember my place in the greater world, I shall remember to be humble. Fill me once more with your Seven Graces, Lord, that I may yield as before to faith in you.  
  
ALMSIVI

**4E 5, Sun's Dawn 12th**

I live still. Ash yam keeps well even under these conditions. I shall have to ration it. The saltrice, however, may go bad soon if it's not finished. 

Llirala! You were right, as always. The reckoning was only deferred. Do you live still, Llirala? Did you escape in time? How many of our brothers and sisters in the Temple survived? I cannot imagine there are very many. We were, after all, the epicenter of the impact. Baar Dau... the "Lie Rock", held up by love and will. You brought our doom upon us, Nerevarine, dark-eyed destroyer of delusion, but you only brought us the truth.

Perhaps the Rock was never the Lie. Or perhaps it was the very shape of the Lie we preached. The doubts of the Dissidents were valid. Their screams as we broke them in the Ministry of Truth haunt my waking dreams. I personally signed the writs for many of them. I consigned them to our Chambers of Discipline. By my own hand it was done.

Surely I should be struck down even at the moment of penning this heresy, or even at the moment it forms in my mind. I could lift my voice now to the blackened sky, and curse my Gods. Would that bring them back? 

Vivec, you twin-formed black-handed fornicator-with-daedra! Almalexia, fork-tongued venom-bosomed mother-who-kills-children! Sotha Sil, tiller of barren soil, false protector! Come to me now, destroy me for the apostate I am! Show yourselves! Punish me!

There. I have done just that. The wind howls at the cave mouth. I thirst; it drowned out my feeble cries.

Nothing. The sky remains the same dark angry red. The rains stay black.

And I am alive still. But not among the living, no, not truly.

**4E 5, First Seed 16th**

The scrape on my shin that I got a few days ago while out foraging has become infected.

I am as helpless as a child! My magic is gone. The well of faith from which I once drew it has gone dry. I speak the prayers, make the gestures, and nothing happens. I can neither heal nor make fire.

This did not happen even after the coming of the Nerevarine and the final destruction of Dagoth Ur. This did not happen even in the final days before the fall of Baar Dau. This is a recent thing.

It is my punishment, I am sure, for the words I uttered and which I set down on parchment a month ago.

I am reassured. My gods are real. By forsaking me, they have shown that they have not forsaken me. 

Lord Vivec, hold mercy in your hand! Mother Morrowind, plead for me! Tinkerer, find and repair me! I am a lost child. I hunger, I thirst, and I bleed.

_**(indecipherable scrawled date)** _

I burn. With fever.

The fire is mine: let it consume thee,  
And make a secret door  
At the altar of Padhome,  
In the House of Boet-hi-Ah  
Where we become safe  
And looked after.

Llirala! May I treasure you? May I treasure her, Lord? Love is under Your will only.

_AYEM AE SEHTI AE VEHK AE AYEM AE SEHTI AE VEHK AE AYEM AE SEHTI AE VEHK AE_

**4E 5, Rain's Hand**

I am much weakened, but it seems my lot is to live. The pool in the cave has become brackish. If I do not find another source of water soon, perhaps I shall die after all.

I can be sure of my dates no longer, thanks to my delirium. But I can make my guess, at least, based on how the fungus at the back of the cave has grown, and how much my body's waste has accumulated. It cannot be more than 2 weeks into Rain's Hand. A clearer judgment than this I cannot make.

My magic has not returned. It is as though I can touch magicka no longer. 

The Red Mountain belches still, but now I can walk outside without coughing and choking with every breath I take. What would I not give now for a good chitin facemask!

I must go further afield. There is nothing for me here, for miles around, at least in the directions I have explored. To stay is death.

**4E 5, Second Seed**

As it turns out this cave is the best shelter I can have for the foreseeable future. I could carry only enough supplies to last three days' steady walk, along the valley that the cave overlooks. 

Dead fish, on the banks of a drying ash-choked river. Barely edible. I came across a dead dreugh as well. Harvested some of its wax - may find a use for it.

I passed some ancestral tombs, but I will consign my soul to Oblivion before I ever steal from one of these, even if I were at death's door.

Then the Triune smiled upon me, and I came across an abandoned farmhouse with some fields. There were stores, and supplies. But when I looked beyond, barren rock and wasteland for miles around, as far as my poor old eyes could see.

I decided to turn back instead of pressing on, and then the Triune smiled on me again. I found another stream a little ways away, where I had not thought to look before. Fresh water now, at least. And for the past few days, I've been having veritable feasts. Kwama eggs, eaten straight from the shell, as I used to, when I was very very young.

I had never thought to taste such goodness again.

I lay these blessings at your feet, Lord Vivec, in gratitude. Do not abandon me, I beg. Do not withdraw your mercy, I beg. Love is under Your will only.

ALMSIVI

**4E 5, Sun's Height**

How many sermons have I written? How many have been lovingly copied, illuminated, disseminated? How many of my original manuscripts survive?

How many honest minds, open like hungry mouths, did I feed with my honeyed lies?

How many souls did we feed into the maw of the Ingenium? 

How many, Llirala? How many died because of me? How many stayed in the City until the very end, ignoring the Dissidents, despising the Ashlanders, faithful to the last, because of me and my sermons? How many were praying in the Temple itself when Baar Dau smashed it to pieces and the Mountain exploded at last with rage?

AE ALTADOON GHARTOK PADHOME

**4E 5, Heart Fire**

I have settled into a routine. My health improves. I could never be a scout, or a hunter - I could not even catch an infant nix-hound, now. But things are growing again in the valley. I can get by. 

I worry, though, that this cave has become a sort of prison for me. I cannot live off the land as effectively as I would like. The farmhouse's supplies are running low, and to travel I will need to gather up supplies to last me more than a week.

Furthermore, I am unsure of my directions - I know I am somewhere between Balmora and Seyda Neen, but I cannot guess at the devastation that must have come to these places. Where would I find safety? It is too hard to say.

I have seen signs of survivors, the occasional lone wanderer or group - but I have stayed away. It is more than likely that they were lawless brigands. In the fullness of my power I would not have feared them at all, but now? A powerless old Mer may well be killed out of hand.

No, that is not the real reason. Forgive me, Llirala. You are right. I must be truthful with myself.

I am guilty. I deserve no help. I know our people. If I were to meet any of our own, they would be unstinting with their aid. I could not bear that.

If I were to meet a band of Ashlanders, ah, that would be a different tale. Their fury at me, once they learned of who I was, would be well-earned indeed. Let them strike me down, with Mephala's black hands and Boethiah's dark will, and let Azura's curse blight me in the grave.

I am as responsible for all this as Vivec ever was.

**4E 5, Frost Fall**

Gone, gone are the days of Resdaynia. We burned them away in the fire of our worship, and now we breathe of the ashes thereof.

You built us a house, Lord, and told us with your Water Face it was safe. Our voices were heard chanting in the Litany Halls. In your Temple we received your teaching.

You protected us against our enemies.

Your house is safe now

So why is it --

Your house is safe now

So why is it --

**4E 6, Morning Star**

I count 15 of them. 9 adults, 6 younglings. Argonians. They've settled in the valley, just below my cave. I can leave or return without being noticed, but it is a chancy thing.

Their people have no reason to love ours. These are likely slaves... former slaves, I should say... from one of the mines or plantations. I doubt they'll be happy to see me.

There's enough in this valley to share. I will endeavor to stay out of their way. Surely they have suffered enough, without having to suffer me. 

**4E 6, Sun's Dawn**

They have not moved on yet. One of them seems to be seriously injured - a broken leg. The rest care for him as much as they can, but there doesn't seem to be any healer among them.

Little enough I can do for them in this regard.

But they don't seem to know the area well enough. I can fashion a sort of poultice from some of the herbs still growing here even after the ash storms of the past year, and with a bit of the cave fungus as well. Desperate need births discovery through experimentation.

There, I've left the necessary items on a rock, where soon enough they'll find them. Hopefully they'll understand what they are for.

**4E 6, Sun's Dawn/First Seed?**

They did, thankfully. At least the inflammation can be alleviated somewhat.

The able-bodied ones spent quite a bit of time over the next few days, looking around, calling out. Rather incautious of them.

They even found my cave, but I was able to conceal the signs of my presence. I don't think they know I'm here.

I remember a sermon I wrote and preached, specifically with slaves as the intended recipients of the message. Vivec's words, said "five times and five ways":

_Forge a keen Faith in the crucible of suffering._

_Engrave upon thy eye the image of injustice._

_Death does not diminish; the ghost gilds with glory._

_Faith conquers all. Let us yield to Faith._

_Better to suffer a wrong than to do one._

I cannot plumb the depths of my shame and sorrow. It is an ancient sea within me.

**4E 6, Rain's Hand**

These Argonians seem keen to stay! I wonder greatly that they do not move on to a more hospitable place. They've erected rough shelters, found a running stream nearby that I've been using as well. A few of them hunt small game. They can range further afield than I can, so they have the advantage of me there. Others have sectioned off some of the soil for planting ash yams. Even after everything that has happened, the land is still good for that.

I might very well be living in a cave right above an incipient village! Or a commune, perhaps. I shouldn't get ahead of myself.

It is odd, but I feel less lonely, Llirala, with these people in such proximity, even though they are (hopefully) completely unaware of my presence. 

**4E 6, Second Seed**

They're no longer unaware of my presence.

I gave in to temptation. They left an offering for me - perhaps in thanks for the small aid I gave them. That injured Argonian is on the mend, it seems. He - or she, I can't tell at the distance I keep - is able to walk again, which is a hopeful sign, although I fear that like me, the Argonian will suffer a persistent limp.

Cornberry-flavored nix-hound steak.

I waited until the deep of night before sneaking out to take it. Surely they would assume that perhaps a creature of the wild had taken the food, left out in the open as it was!

But they were watching, and they saw me. They knew that I had crept back into my cave. They stood at the entrance and called out to me. Something about a "kind stranger" and meaning me no harm. 

I didn't say anything or give any sign I heard them. Thankfully they decided to leave me alone instead of exploring the cave again, more thoroughly than before.

By Sanguine, these Argonians can cook.

**4E 6, Mid Year**

I've spent some time listening to their young ones. When they're not at play they speak sadly of the ones they miss, the friends they had to leave behind.

They speak of whippings from cruel masters as though such things were commonplace.

I've begun writing down what I can remember of the _Annotated Anuad_ , the children's edition, on some pieces of parchment, and I've left these scribblings of mine on that same rock as before. Found and taken, promptly enough. That is good.

I have no idea if these slave children were allowed to even acquire basic literacy, but the adult Argonians have taken on the role of caregivers, assuming some weren't already the parents of these children, and they seem happy to have my poor writings as a rudimentary form of teaching material. Some hours a day now, I observe, are given over to education. One of them, a female I think, has taken on the role of teacher. 

I'm quite ashamed of the quality of my writings. What a far cry they are from the careful work of the scribes we employed in the Temple! 

Past glories belong in the past, do they not, Llirala? But cherished memories... they belong in the present, with us, always.

**4E 6, Last Seed**

They killed them. By the dripping spear of Molag Bal they killed them. Killed the adults. The younglings were spared, taken, chained up. I can hear their cries from here.

Murderous newcomers. Fellow Dunmer, a round dozen, armed to the teeth. After an altercation, they attacked. The Argonians didn't stand a chance.

Livery and armor, out of Mournhold. Mournhold still stands, then?

Overheard snippets of their conversation. They treated the Argonians as escaped slaves. They're rounding up the young ones to take back for sale. To help with the reconstruction efforts.

These Dunmer, these soldiers of the Duke of Mournhold, are the first of my people I've seen in over a year.

And all I want to do is murder them as they sleep. By the Black Hands of Mephala I'll do it, I may be an old heretic but there's still something left in me, Sheogorath take them, I'll kill them.

**4E 6, Final Entry**

This shall be the last entry in my journals, such as they are, such as they have been.

The children have set me down in my cave. They're outside now, whispering quietly among themselves, full of fear and uncertainty and sorrow.

I showed myself to the Mournhold patrol. I told them who I was - an uncomfortable mantle, as though it were an old article of clothing one had grown out of - and that their actions warranted much contrition and penance. I declared that the Argonian children were to be freed and protected, and escorted to a place of safety.

At first they seemed receptive. They were skeptical, then amazed, that the Archcanon of the Tribunal Temple of Vivec City was alive, and here, of places. I gave them sufficient proof of my identity, I think, and they were ready to listen and obey.

But not all. It would seem that many of our people blame us now - not wrongly - blame the Temple for the great calamity that has befallen us. There was argument, dissension in the ranks. Then, flashing blades, the crisp smell of lightning-roasted flesh... and things had turned against me.

And even as the spear-head pierced my flesh and skewered my innards, even as I stared my doom in the face... the gods had mercy, and power once more flowed through my fingertips, through every part of my body.

Which gods? Our vanished ones? The Daedra? The Divines of the Imperial Cult? 

I shall find out very soon, I think. Or at least I shall attempt to.

Soon, Llirala. Soon I shall be with you, and Rirnas, and Berel, and Alvela, and so many more of you. Oh I have missed you all terribly.

The power left me again as soon as the last of my foes had fallen. All dead now. None left to threaten these children... for now.

My time has come. For myself I am content. I have lived long enough. 

But after I am gone, what then, for these young ones? Will they meet more of my people who try to put chains on their wrists and ankles again? Will they meet hungry predators in the wild? Will they wander under the ash-heavy sky until they die from thirst and hunger?

I have tried to tell them some things about surviving, things I have learned for myself. Where to find roots and edible fruits, that sort of thing. How to hide, to keep warm at night.

And I have tried to tell them what their parents didn't have time to, but probably would have wanted them to know.

I have told them about the beauty of the dawn and the dusk, to appreciate all such beauty in every day of life.

I have told them that the darkness of the night is not a time for fear, but if there are any enemies who wish them harm, they must embrace the shadow and strike with black hands without mercy.

I have told them that death is an eventuality for all, but a long arm and swift blade will preserve them well while they are here, in this world.

I have told them never to transgress against brother or sister, but to do all virtuous things that will bring honor to their friends and families, including their loved ones who have gone into Aetherius.

I have told them to neither quail, nor run away in the face of fear, but to face it boldly, with the Grace of Valor. 

I have told them that fair dealing earns love, trust and respect, for it is the Grace of Justice.

I have told them to neither hoard nor steal, but to share freely with each other, with house and hearth, with the Grace of Generosity.

I hope I have told them enough, Llirala. Some of these are fragments of our old lies, yes... but I would not unsay these things if I could. 

Lord Vivec, protect these children whose parents were not your people, but served your people with humility and courtesy.

Mother Almalexia, watch over these children, heal their hurts, do not let harm come to them.

Master Sotha Sil, give to them some measure of your cunning, that they may make their way in the world with adroitness and wit.

Four Corners of the House of Troubles, hear me - we in Mundus have sacrificed much to you, and entreated much of you. There shall be no more sacrifice with these ones. There shall be no more holocaust of the young. Neither make compact with them, nor make compact with any who wish them ill. Find other playthings, and content yourselves.

Perhaps this is why I have been allowed to live this long, after I should've died a red and dusty death. Would that I could live longer still, and see these children to a place of safety. But that burden cannot be mine to bear now.

I wish them well. It has been a gift to me, at the end of it all, to behold innocence.

\- Tholer Saryoni


End file.
